Revenant
by dr.elephant
Summary: I was broken when my soul mark became a scar, my destined gone before we ever met. After overcoming this rare tragedy my life repaired, but nothing lasts forever, especially death, especially in Gotham City.
1. Part I

Let me just stop you right there. I am already fully aware of the bevy of 'soulmate' entries on this site.

This is intended to be a short story in 2 parts.

-Elk

* * *

Summary: I was broken when my soul mark became a scar, my destined gone before we ever met. After overcoming this rare tragedy my life repaired, but nothing lasts forever, especially death, especially in Gotham City.

* * *

 **Revenant**

 **Part 1**

It was almost three o'clock in the morning when my soulmate died.

The paired sensations of heat and suffocation roused me from deep sleep, my hands clutching helplessly over my heart. There was a chemical burning in my mouth, my nose, and blinding my eyes. This phantom pain only lasted seconds, even if it felt like my entire life was ending.

I pulled in deep gasps of oxygen as the horrifying impressions ebbed. As soon as I was able to move without the acidic taste of bile rising up from the back of my throat, I climbed down from my bunk and padded over to the mirror mounted on the back of the dorm room door. My roommate was home for the weekend, so I felt no hesitation divesting myself of my nightshirt and flicking on the light.

The words that had been over my heart since I was twelve were devastated by five red, inflamed marks.

"Four fingers and a thumb," I said numbly as my fingertips hovered over the sight, afraid to apply pressure and induce more pain.

It was like my brain couldn't fathom the events that had just occurred, so it shut down. I was too stressed from my classwork, being away from home…

There was nothing left to be done.

I didn't even bother turning the light back off. All I recall now is climbing the ladder back up to my bed to recoup of loss of sleep I suffered during the week.

Well, that's not entirely true, I remember crying and not understanding why I did. I'd never worried about my 'destined love' in the past. If it was destiny, then everything would all work out, wouldn't it? They would be a natural fit and preoccupation took up valuable cognitive faculties better used elsewhere.

Of course, I realized, in time, that OF COURSE I was heartbroken, my perfect companion, the only certainty that I had in life, was just fucking gone, and they had left this world in a gruesome, painful way.

I truly felt what it was like to live a life without any possible certainty.

I was terrified of being free.

...

My retrospective tendencies fell me hardest whenever I'm confronted with a scene of two destined people meeting. Why did mine have to be taken away from me?

I left collage the following year. Becoming untethered, some cute little shorthand for "your soul mate died and now you're all alone," wasn't something that happened very often, so there weren't a lot of resources I could pull from as I struggled to come to terms. My family tried to offer support, but none of them had been born with a soul mark. I just ended up resenting them for a while.

It wasn't until I left home to carve out my own space that I found peace.

I found it in Gotham City.

My first apartment was, to put it mildly, a shithole. I loved it. There was no one sharing my bathroom, all the kitchen appliances were mine, and I could strut around naked as the day I born whenever I god damn fancied.

Over a decade later, the apartments had improved, along with the jobs, and now I reside in a tidy midtown place with a single neighbor who leaves me the hell alone.

The dream.

...

It only stops raining fifteen minutes before I'm ready to go out.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim as I catch myself in the mirror, then cup my hands around my mouth to yell. "Who in the hell is that beautiful-ass bitch?" There is no shame in getting amped up for a social interaction you instinctively dread. I give my dress another once over, smoothing down the shimmering blue fabric with a pleased hiss. It had cost me an arm and a leg, so if it looked this good it was worth it.

My blonde curls were left to fly free, after the proper application of as much goop as was necessary to keep from frizzing up in this humidity. I pull on my obnoxiously yellow overcoat from the rack and hurry out to meet my friend, Carlos, currently yelling drunken obscenities from the street.

"The pregame is strong with this one." He cheers as we swagger towards a group of our mutual friends. "Yes, your mighty hammer of drunkenness is unchallenged." Carlos slaps my shoulder with the back of his hand. "Star Wars, girl, that shit was STAR WARS." I scrunch up my shoulders. "You're trying to tell me there isn't one dude with a hammer in the WHOLE of Start Wars?" Carlos lets out a deeply irritated sigh and walks faster to lose me. "Don't walk next to me."

I cackle happily in response, and he joins in as we finally managed to merge with the rest of the group.

One crowded car ride later, we spill into the club. I don't really have the personality for clubbing unless I'm well and truly sloshed. Tonight, unfortunately, I am not in the mood to drink, so I let my awkward compass guide me to an empty booth near the back. This place is impressively decadent. It was apparently bought out by Gotham's flavor of the month baddie, who was then bought out by someone a little more baddie and a little flashier. 'Think there's enough gold in here?' I muse just before wiggling a finger at Carlos to beckon him closer. "I can leave in two hours, right?" My voice is muffled by the persistent beat. "Yes, Regina, two hours." He replies, then disappears after an indulgent smile.

I make what I feel qualifies as an effort. My shoulders shimmy the appropriate amount, my head rocks from side to side with something that borders enthusiasm. If I manage to stay appropriately invisible in the club space, then I'll avoid being approached by someone.

This isn't to say I have some selfish Hobbesian personality, I just don't feel like handling the task of making a new friend, sexy or otherwise. The last two attempts at making sexy friends had ended with them staring in mortification at my dead mark, followed up by trying to console me like it had just happened.

It got old.

Fast.

"'scuse me, Miss."

"Jesus jumping Christ!" My heart leaps into my throat; I jerk my head to the left to confront the voice that somehow managed to sneak up on me. My head tilts back, dude was tall, and I offer up an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, guy." My voice is strong, even with the brief injection of adrenaline in my veins. He returns my apology with a shrug, a stupid smile and his stupid, handsome face. "Didn't mean to scare ya, I just wanted to come say, 'hello,' is all." He's got that stereotypical lower-class Gotham accent. I'm feeling it.

Maybe I can forgo my self-imposed exile for a couple of minutes. I offer up a hand to Mr. Handsome with a stupid smile of my own.

"Regina."

He wastes no time in taking my hand for a gentle shake.

"Jonny."

Once he releases my hand, I nod towards the throng of people populating the dance floor. "You want to dance or stare at each other?" This makes Jonny smile in a way that seems almost bashful. "Woman lookin' like you, I could do either." I can't help but laugh as I slide out of the booth. "10 out of 10." I reply coolly, "no splash." He catches up with me as I start towards the floor, pulling my hand into his so we don't lose each other in the sea of warm bodies.

The bass thrums loud enough that it becomes the whole world, moving to it is like breathing, twisting and grinding to life.

Somehow, I run into the one guy who couldn't keep up with the beat if he was nailed to his ass. In an effort to salvage his dignity, I wrap his arm around my waist and sway my hips to the flow of the music, laughing brightly when he begins to finally get it, sliding my own arms around his neck. The heat of our bodies builds as we continue to gyrate, his expensive suit and my knockoff the only thing between us.

Then suddenly my back is against his chest, his fingers grip me ruthlessly on my thighs, his face bows to my neck so he can speak directly into my ear. "You're'a real good dancer, sweetheart." If I had been drunk I might not have picked up on the abrupt change in Jonny's tone and body. Where he was before as uncoordinated as a dad at a barbecue, he now molds himself perfectly to my back, working my frame like a fucking masterclass in seduction through dance. I turn my body to face him, to ask that he let me go, but he stops me with a large hand pressed flat on my belly.

"Do me a favor, Gina."

"Regina, motherfucker."

His chest vibrates with laughter.

The touch of his fingers on my chin almost makes me jerk away, though I know he'll just tighten his grip, so I relent. "Do me a favor, REGINA, and look up there for me." Jonny keeps his face level with mine as we both raise our gaze to a room constructed with four walls of painted glass. I assume it's a manager's office. Built on the second level of the club, it's able to observe everything like some disco panopticon. Most of the glass is painted gold to obscure the inside, save for a few strategic locations where the occupant can observe the activities going on below them.

It is in one of these windows that I track an unmoving silhouette of someone positioned in such a way that I think they could be watching us. Jonny seemed to sense my realization and slowed our dance to a listless sway. "Whadda think?" His voice seems far away as my eyes continue to search the window, daring whoever is in there to properly show themselves. "Not sure she's gonna go for that, Boss." He isn't talk to me? Is he talking to the person in the window? I can feel my indignation grow, the asshole with his hands all over me, manhandling me, isn't even paying me any attention.

"You're sure?"

He must have an earpiece in.

"If you say so, Boss."

He releases me without ceremony.

"Got time for another favor, sweetheart?"

My eyes haven't left the window where the shadow still stares down at me; I swear I can see eyes burning in the dark.

"You got time to kiss every last inch of my ass?" I swing my body around towards Jonny, my left fist comes up to land a sloppy punch against the ear where I hope he's keeping his communicating device.

Nah.

He shakes off the blow with a mildly miffed expression, he's more amused than he'd be if it actually hurt. "Baby, if it were up to me I'd make all the time in the world, but apparently the boss needs a word." Everyone around us was either too drunk or too into minding their own business to come to my aid as I am abruptly ushered back to my booth.

We return to find it occupied.

"You always do such good work, Frost."

All the bass in the world can't disguise the cartoonish voice of the mythical creature staring at me over folded hands. The ease at which he studies me is unnerving, I've never felt more mortal in my entire life.

"I try, Boss."

"Take a walk, Jonny."

"Sure thing. Have a good night, Gina."

"Regina, god dammit!"

Any further tirade is interrupted by the howling laughter of Gotham's green-haired poster boy for mental health reform. "You are so MAD right now." He points out obviously, leaning his cheek against one of his open hands, the other turning into a fist that he slams on the tabletop. Despite my blood freezing at the sound of his cackle, I feel my eyes harden. I spent years listening to my family rant and rave about the dangers of moving to this city, never once had anything of true merit happened to me.

I was unprepared for how pissed off it made me that all that karma came back to me in the form of a face to face with The Joker.

"Sit."

He gestures towards the space across from him with a ring-heavy hand. I weigh my options in silence. If I decline, then he'll probably stab me.

Rumor had it he was a VERY stab-y kind of guy.

There was also the chance the he'd have his tall, handsome, dickhead goon stab me.

Also, not great.

The impatient tilt of his head, married with the animalistic bearing of his teeth make the decision for me, and I slide into the booth as calmly as possible. His expression brightens manically as he leans over the table, his torso stretching ridiculously to swipe the decorative metal display into the floor, giving us an uninterrupted view on one another.

The Joker lingered, resting both of his palms against the glossy wood to keep himself up right, his eyes peering widely towards mine.

"It's like a magic eye painting, except I don't have to squint to see what I'm lookin' for."

The absolute fuck?

His hooded gaze drops from my eyes to survey the rest of my features, lingering on my lips, before falling down swiftly to my tits.

Charming.

I can feel the rhythmic flow of his breath across my face. When had he moved closer? I notice now that all of his body is on the table, his knees where the display had been moments earlier. Someone must have drugged me when I wasn't paying attention. Maybe I whacked my head against something in the bathroom and I'm bleeding out on the floor, this whole experience created by my dying brain.

"Nasty little cut…" The tip of his finger grazes my collar, a cool brush over the very top of my dead mark. My body on autopilot, I catch his wrist. "Untethered." I respond as I always do when this happens. His eyes remain on my fingers that have captured his limb. "Is that why you're out here, Ra-gen-uh? Trying to find someone to fill that hole?" His tone is dark, not suggestive like before, a sliver of aggression makes me let his wrist go.

There is something electric buzzes in the air around us. "Why am I here…?" My words trail as I ponder what to call him.

"J?" He provides, mocking my questioning tenor with a higher pitched one of his own. "Why am I here?" I ask again, snapping my teeth together when he touches my throat with a few of his roaming fingers; they raise up to sweep carefully over my lips, encouraging me to continue.

"Mr. J?" I whisper in a breathy voice, mocking the situation as he did before. This was apparently, however, exactly what he wanted, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he dips his mouth precariously close to my own. "You have nooooo idea how fucking delicious that sounds."

Warnings swell in chest, my heart beats hard enough to rival the music booming from the floor.

From one breath to the next I'm out of my seat, dragged down some mangy corridor, and alone in the room with the guy who'd just been panting at me like an overheated dog. The Joker, who I now see has a god damn pimp cane and is swinging it by his side, fixes me with a malicious stare. He remains silent, but I can tell there is a hurricane of crazy spiraling inside his head.

Was he trying to figure out whether not he was going to kill me? What could I have possibly done to invoke his wrath? I was literally just sitting in a corner when Jonny or Frost or whatever the fuck his name was, came over to me!

It's The Joker, he'd burn down his own strip club when they'd run out of olives. He probably wasn't beyond just stone cold ending a bitch.

Finally, he speaks, and all my muscles tighten accordingly.

"Ya ever go through life thinkin' there ain't nobody who gets you?" His voice slithers across the room at me. He, thankfully, decided to stay where he was, twirling that cane around in circles by the top. "That's a ri-DIC-u-lous question for you! OF COURSE YOU DO! It's like some tried to rip your god damn heart out, for cripes sake!" His laughter echoes in the big, empty room.

He sobers instantly. His emotional highs and lows were going to give me whiplash. "I always knew there was someone out there who got me, or who WOULD get me when I found her."

I find myself wrapping up my chest with my arms. It was time to find the door.

"Because, Regina, as sad-" Mr. J frowns dramatically, "and as miserable as this broad feels." He drops his right shoulder back suddenly, like a person miming emotional pain made physical. "It's a walk in the sunshine and rainbow filled fucking PARK compared to a head jammed full of ghosts." I take a step backward towards the exit, a mistake that sends Joker across the room and into my space. "Full of a pair of smiling faces. Faces that meet and laugh and dance and fuck and go to the beach and baby showers." My field of vision becomes only his pale, tattooed face as he looms before me with deadly stillness.

"Your face, baby."


	2. Part II

Shout-out to my reviewers, favs, and followers! You are all my sweet, sweet dumplings.

I had EVERY intention of this being a story told in 2 parts. Now, however, I can see that it flows better with more chapters.

Ah well, fuck it.

Enjoy.

-Elk

* * *

 **Revenant**

 **Part 2**

My world narrows down to pinpoints.

I can't hear anymore; the sound of my rushing blood deafens me.

The only sense of touch I recognize is his hand pressed intimately against the scar over my heart.

"Since you've never died, lemme tell you something that only a select few know to be true." Joker drums his fingertips roughly against my skin.

"When you've landed in a vat of poison and the stuff starts to seep into your brain, the little fella tries to distract you with pretty images. He wants to protect you from the horrible, sticky truth."

He pulls back his lips to showcase his capped metal grin.

"Ain't that somethin'?"

The Joker sends me a couple of steps back with a push, so that he can crowd me against the exposed brick wall, his body harder than his deceptively thin frame would suggest.

"Unless, and this is important Regina…" He leans in with the all the subtly of a silent movie star, peeking around like he doesn't want to get caught spilling this next line. "…you've got yourself a soul mate." He opens his mouth in shock. "I know, I know. Does that not just BLOW your mind?" He exclaims, hands going up next to his head, flicking his fingers in an explosive gesture. His head and shoulders fall back as he howls with rotten mirth, cracking another toothy grin as soon as he snaps back forward, the movement so jarring it makes me wonder if it hurts.

"In that case, you see her! You see wonderful, watercolor memories of the life you would have shared if, you know, you weren't so busy choking on lung fulls of piping hot murder juice."

An involuntary yelp leaves me when he slaps a hand to each of my cheeks and pulls my face forward as he traces the back of his teeth with his serpent tongue.

"This mug has been in my head for a very, very long time."

He clicks that tongue with something boarding on wonder. "Ain't that somethin'?" The Joker repeats still cradling my face all the while.

I know I need to say or do something, but my brain is having trouble catching up.

There was also the _tiny_ matter of this chartreuse-haired sociopath ripping the metaphorical Band-Aid off my oldest wound.

A significant part of me wants this all to be some fucked up game he was playing.

I've spent the better part of fifteen years trying move passed this trauma; always speculating on what could have been, and this crowing madman was the endgame?

Un-fucking-believable.

My resentment is too much to suppress; I toss my trepidation over my shoulder and growl my urgency at him.

"Show me."

"Ask nicely."

"Fucking show me, you cackling hag."

"I still haven't heard the magic word..." He sings into my face.

I can feel my skin heating up and cooling at the same time, that feeling of flying while standing perfectly still eating me up.

This needs to be fake.

I need it to be.

Must be.

I need it, I need it, I need it, I NEED IT!

My voice freezes over; I lift my chin despite his grasp.

"Either play your cards or get your fucking hands off me."

The smile that oozes across his face is toxic.

Keeping one hand pressed against my cheek, Mr. J reaches down with a slowness designed to make me scream and drags his white dress shirt free from his pants, high enough up to expose most of his vampire white torso, high enough that I swallow audibly as I make out the nearly invisible shape of my name swirled inelegantly along his rib-cage.

I can hear him enunciating every syllable.

"Re-gin-a."

The brand would have been more perceptible if his complexion weren't that of a department store mannequin. Mine was as equally light, though now it was garbled under the scar tissue.

I only realize I've reached out to touch him when Joker inhales unexpectedly, lifting his shoulders. I withdraw my fingers from his balmy flesh, still staring out, unseeing as my mind tries to shuffle around what I've just learned, to force it into something that resembles coherence.

Un-fucking-believable.

Joker pats my cheek roughly after dropping down his shirt, his expression that of stilted sympathy. "Get it together, Gina. You're not even crying at the right part…you're making it sooooo awkward."

I didn't even feel the tears in my eyes.

Being in this room, sandwiched against this wall has drained all the piss and vinegar from me. I untangle him from my face with a fluid turn of my body, serving him my shoulder to lean the other against the wall, the side of my head touching the cool brick. The clown drifts in front of me to mirror my pose, resting his opposing shoulder on the wall to glower across at me.

He takes a beat to compose himself, then folds his hands over the top of his head like he's holding himself down, that gravity might take him away at any moment.

Once my breathing levels off I must seem receptive because he beings to speak again, his voice so quiet that it's like it's coming from inside my own head.

"A few years ago, your pal Mr. J took a long-needed vacation." At this minimal distance, I can see every line of age around his eyes and forehead. We had to be close in years, though whatever harrowing shit he lived through had carved out all those little lines on his face. "Unfortunately, there were some spa treatments that for, whatEVER reason, didn't work out as promised. Ya know how it goes, they tell you it's the cure to all your megalomaniacal tendencies and instead you're sitting in a padded room trying to remember how it feels to kill'a guy. Everything is this black hole of…" He trails off in disgust.

I can feel my eyebrows practically entering my hairline at this point.

Even if I hadn't been paying attention to a word he's saying, the frustrated, helpless tone is unmistakable.

The way he looks at me now makes more sense.

"You remembered me?" I supply gently.

"Her face, voice, breadcrumbs, a path to follow." He replies in one of most human voices I've heard him use all night. "Never been sure if I ever got out."

Joker's face flattens in dawning realization, his eyes drifting over my hair.

"She was so…good."

Before I can even pull a confused face those hands of his are on me again, this time curved over my hip and my neck. "Funny thing happens when you're the one who stops doing the chasing." He purrs lightly, somehow enjoying his very pronounced decent into, well, himself. My eyes slide close and I feel my lips tremble as he swipes a jeweled thumb at the moisture on my cheek.

"You get chased."

Was he talking about me or himself?

' _She was so good_.'

He wasn't JUST talking about me.

My heart skips a beat when his breath fans across my skin, my eyes opening to see him hovering there, mouth agape like a scared dog barring its teeth.

"I didn't stop chasing him, Mr. J. He died."

My words still him and his mouth closes without a sound, though his hands will not let me go, so I continue. "I don't believe in ghosts either. He's dead and I have the mark to prove it." I want to say so many other things, but instead I reach out with a single finger and brush the back of my nail just against the top curve of his ear. My mind whirs with the possibilities of what he might have been like before he became the steel plated gangster that holds me now. Even though we must have been compatible in some way, I know this kaleidoscope view is all I'll ever see.

Mr. J turns his head while simultaneously catching the hand I've left to hanging by his cheek, the warmth of his open mouth on my wrist feels apologetic, needful. I stay where I am as he moves his lips down to my palm, before leaning his cheek into my hand. "I wanna fucking devour you, baby." He mourns and I almost laugh, a pressure building behind my eyes.

"No, you don't, baby." I snarl as I grabbed a fistful of his shirt with my free hand.

The disbelief in his eyes before our mouths connect is orgasmic. We become one entity for a moment, my hands finally sliding up to hold his face, his fingers sink desperately into the soft skin of my back. I don't kiss, I battle, I fight to prove a point.

A moment of hesitation comes when he retreats, pulling back to catch his breath, his dark eyes take in my swollen lips and furious expression. He wants to say something, but there is an unambiguous tenderness in his expression that has me diving my fingers into his hair and wrenching his mouth back to mine.

This had been a mistake.

If this was an exercise in reinforcement for me, it was a game changer for him.

"You're not…him." I gasp out between kisses, my grip felt like it had to be bruising, I expect to be pulling out chunks of hair at this point. Joker hums in agreement, the sound deep from the back of his throat. He somehow manages to maneuver closer, pressing that sharp body to me fully.

I had wanted him to taste the difference between Harley and Regina.

It had been all over the news. Quinn had been captured by The Batman over a year ago and Joker's propensity for violence had grown exponentially, even if his finesse has suffered somewhat. That was until last month when he'd practically fallen off the map.

I have a feeling he'd been sulking.

Lonely.

I know it well.

Our kiss has morphed into something else. It has grown comfortable, though no less needful, unhurried. I loosen my grip on his hair, leaving my hands to rest on his shoulders and pull away, our lips uncoupling with a soft _pop._

I keep my eyes closed.

I find myself savoring a moment that I should have never allowed to happen, a moment that should have led to the opposite of the feelings fluttering in my stomach and the warming of my skin.

His mouth wonders over my forehead, fleetingly pressing kisses to the skin as he pleases.

This needs to be over.

"I didn't come here looking for you."

I'm not a stand-in.

"Yeah, ya did, Gina. Even if you didn't know it." He insists. "I've been an awfully good boy this year." His voice drips with a coppery tinge. "Kept busy while I waited on my Harley's warm body. Patient- so fucking patient."

I still haven't opened my eyes, but now I do, to watch his petulant sneer as he stares back.

This is a man I've read countless horror stories about. A man that's really a dragon, a beast that spews fire and roars joy while the kingdom burns and the townsfolk scream.

A dragon that fooled the princess into thinking it was still capable of loving like a man.

"Tell me about her." I defuse him in four words. The Joker drops his hold instantly, arms falling uselessly by his side. He regards me with that same childish look. I ruined the game. "She purrs like a kitten after we fuck." He fires back in an attempt to embarrass me, to punish me.

I respond by popping him playfully on the arm, an action that makes him growl and shove me hard against the wall, his hand at the back of head to keep it from knocking me out. "I keep getting mixed signals from you." His fingers are tangled in my hair which he uses to pull my head back, his lips brush my chin and jaw as he speaks. "You're not her, she's not you…" Mr. J whispers with some finality.

"You're the same. How hard is it to understand, Gina? I mean, you gotta be pretty fucking oblivious. That sweet face in my head. He wouldn't let me have her, but he was DEAD!" I gasp when he suddenly lunges forward to lick a path up my neck towards my ear. "She was all I had in that place, but then there she was when I looked at my pretty doctor. She, you found me again, escaped out of my useless fucking mind and stared at me with those eyes."

Both of his hands are on my throat and I can't move.

"Everything else was gone. She left me empty, baby, but kept telling me she loved me? That's a kind of fucked up that even I don't get. First, I used my doctor to get free, then I chased her away. Away, away." He laughs sharply. "I chased her away and chased after the other. I chased her for so long I forgot about the first, so when I gave up and she found me, all I could remember was that she loved me."

His rambling speech sends lightening through me. I was nervous before, now I am wholly terrified. I don't know what move to make.

"I let her love me. I got used to being loved by someone not in my head."

The chaos of his delusion was dizzying.

"Harley didn't belong to anyone, not like me, she didn't know what it felt like to lose something that will still always be yours. Now she does. Now we do all the things that they did in my head. We're him and her." I can see in his eyes that he expects me to fully understand him. He probably isn't a person normally given to explaining himself, so all I can do is cover his hands with mine and ease them off my throat.

Tonight isn't going to revolutionary.

I'll just be one more woman cleaning up after a man.

My voice is subdued.

"You let yourself love her back, huh?"

His voice is pure defeat.

"I let myself believe she was you."

* * *

 _'Elk, buddy, what the hell is happening?'_

Few things, sweetcheeks. A FEW THINGS.

-This story, even though I have marked it as so, isn't really a romance by your generally accepted interpretation. The main idea was the combination of the Joker's lack of backstory and the whole soulmate trope. I wanted to focus on a world where dying, for any length of time, cancelled out any soulmate attachment, or even the idea that having such a fundamental psychological transformation would have the soulmate process consider the old you 'dead.' The two characters draw to one another is unbalanced, with Regina's past trauma driving her to find a resolution and Joker now recognizing that he never voiced his, that he ties an entire arch of his life with the unlived memories of a woman who, for all intents and purposes, never existed for him.

-Mr. J's sort of 'word vomit' at the end is actually something I've been asked to do in therapy. You are asked to explain how you feel about a certain topic, even if it doesn't make any god damn sense. It might be a little somethin', somethin' he picked up on while pretending to be too cool for therapy.

-I do not care if you think Joker is OOC. I'm obviously taking my J from SS, wherein he was played hella inconsistently by Jared Leto. Also, if I'm being honest, I was NOT super into the movie as a whole. I appreciated the less abusive portrayal of the Harley Quinn/Joker dynamic, though. (Cut-scenes notwithstanding. I didn't watch'em, I won't watch'em, why are you trying to ruin this for me?)

-H.Q.'s hair pre-acidbath was meh fav.


	3. Part III

I bring unto you the next chapter.

Thank you for your reviews, follows, and favorites.

Y'all keep that up! That's the shit that I do like.

-Elk

* * *

 **Revenant**

 **Part 3  
**

" _I let myself believe she was you."_

The disbelief on my face must be biting because The Joker wrenches himself away with a short, angry snarl. I watch all of his barricades come up at once, his most telling is that familiar laughter filling up the newly carved space between us.

"Listen to me, carrying on like a silly girl who got her books slapped outta her arms!" He flings out his arms in a T-shape, to ask the audience, 'can you believe it?'

I remain as I am.

A fresh feeling of dread pours into me. The solution to his problem, a solution that I identify while I watch him take a lazy spin as he cackles quietly into the air.

There was only one way as far as I could see to get this creature out of my life. I feel no connection to him, not in the way that he did, not in the way that he had for the majority of his life. I understand that I was perhaps the only person who knew his pain. While I had taken years to move through it, he'd buried it down, and when it wouldn't stay buried, he gave it form and flesh.

Harley.

He needed to get her back for both our sakes.

"Kill me."

His response is immediate.

"I'm not gonna kill ya." His deadpan voice almost makes me crack a smile.

"You couldn't even if you wanted to…" I trail off as Mr. J narrows his eyes at me, trying to glean whether or not he should be insulted.

My back straightens as he steps forwards again and covers my jaw with his hand, his thumb hovering just over my lips. We're nearly the same height. The Joker is not a large physical presence, a fact which only adds to his legend. He didn't need to be big to capture your attention. All he had to do was fix you with a particular, albeit short stare and you instantly felt unsafe.

Or alive.

A whisper of realization passes between us, resignation that has him bearing a defeated grin. He clutches my face with both hands and guides me forward, an act he makes infinitely gentle, and kisses me one more time. As my fingers clutch at his forearms and the seal of my lips breaks open to invite him closer, I refuse to forget where I am and who I am with; I anchor myself with facts. I cannot let my guard down like last time.

We again move with a fluidity that taunts me, the dance of two lovers who made up all the steps, so we can never forget just how it goes. I've kept repeating that I want nothing to do with him, but my altogether thirsty-ass reaction would have anyone else guessing otherwise. You're allowed, I reason, to be attracted to someone that you have no business being near. It has to be some leftover shit from when his bone-white body housed my bonded's soul.

Joker pulls back abruptly, though not unkindly, our hands still locked in place- his on my face and mine on his arms- I feel transfixed. Even if the man branded on my skin had died the day The Joker was born, our bond remained powerful enough that I am still bewitched.

Mr.J had known me for as long as The Joker has existed. He had watched my life played out with what seemed, to him, another man. This was the only reason he would ever allow me to peer inside. I had only known him for an hour, he'd known me his entire life.

The Joker always seem to pride himself on his inhumanity, it was a defining characteristic, what made him truly excel at the crime game. If anyone ever knew me as a part of him, it would erode his reputation as soulless. It could ruin him. Harley, while being an obvious paramour, was the kind of dangerous woman The Joker would have by his side. She was unfailing in her loyalty, seemingly more cohort than girlfriend, which played well into Joker's mythos. She underscored instead of undermined. No one but a true demon could tame and hold onto Harley Quinn.

"I don't have to stay dead." I whisper with a blooming smile. "Just long enough to make it interesting."

Mr. J laughs despite himself, stopping completely when I lean forward to press my kiss apologetically to his forehead.

He has to let me go.

His gravelly voice fills me with relief.

"Let me get Frost."

…...

My mouth tastes sweet and gory.

Someone hit me?

No.

I think I bit my tongue.

My fighting has died down to uselessly squeezing my fingernails into the hand around my throat. My heels are somewhere around me; I kicked them off in an attempt to hit the asshole murdering me.

Movement catches my eye, it's Mr. J, he's hovering around my periphery, his expression of shock and astonished horror.

I lose sight of him as he collapses, hand on his throat.

He can't breathe either.

I can't breathe.

There must be still be something there. A part of the bond intact enough to render my pain unto him.

Hilarious.

Oxygen deprivation has lulled my senses now, blunted them into near uselessness.

I lose myself in thoughts of sleep, slipping into a void where nothing has to make sense, where I don't have to exist, where this fucking pain in my head can just stop.

Nothing passes through my lips or lunges, not air or words, I'm too tired to fight anymore. The tightness around my neck reasserts itself and I flicker a look to the left to find a surreal reflection in the previously unrecognized glass wall in front of me.

Death is tall.

And bearded.

The world is ending.

Never again will I smell my favorite perfume or scratch my cat's back or other thousand pointless things that I never considered made up my life.

No, no.

The world isn't ending.

I'm ending.

I can feel my despair mounting; there was so much more that I wanted to do, so much more of which I was capable.

As I sag with finality against the wall of flesh behind me, ready to succumb to eternity, I muster a singular whimper. "Just let go, sweetheart." I hear a voice, desperate. "Go on…" Even dying I find myself wanted to tell this voice to fuck off. I'll die how I want.

My colorless lips open minutely, the act too draining in my current state, and I collapse into the well of my own mind.

….

My gasp startles whoever is next to me into a jerk. I can feel their calloused touch against my cheek as they push a piece of hair from my clammy skin. There is no reason to try and speak, I can feel the raw pain of my throat screaming at me even now. Sitting up is not much of an option either, the world is spinning like a run-away carousel behind my eyes.

At least I didn't piss myself.

"Did it work, Boss?"

It's Jonny's voice, he continues to run his fingers up and down my cheek, oblivious to the fact that maybe I wasn't in the mood to be touched after having just been fucking strangled. The room is dark enough that with my eyes closed, there is no lingering light shifting through my eyelids. I move my head just enough to escape his touch, which he seems to understand, as he doesn't try to follow.

I hear the distinct sound of fabric, followed by the even more distinct sound of heavy object being hurled against the wall. "WHATA YOU THINK, JONNY?"

Us down here on the floor vote 'no.'

I can feel my disappointment solidify. This wasn't just for Joker, this was supposed to be my escape! My body and mind are just so fucking tired. I can't move or scream at this point. I feel trapped in my own skin. I almost died tonight and for what?

"Hate to say it, Boss…but maybe it's got to be, ya know, all the way?"

My blood turns to slush and I finally open my eyes.

Jonny is crouched down next to me like the boogeyman that he is, watching me with a morbidly curious expression. He could kill me in an instant and not feel a thing; he was a hyper-violent gangster so unflinching that he managed to impress Mr. J himself.

It was refreshing to know I could count on him being the absolute worst.

The Joker, however, was not so nearly appreciative Frost's attitude and was now resting the muzzle of his ridiculously large gun against his henchman's noggin. "Know why I like you, Jonny-boy? You tend to be the least fucking stupid person in the room." My eyes go wide at the tell-tell click of the gun's hammer being pulled back.

"I guess we all have our off days." Frost replies. "My mistake, Boss. I'll go get her something from the stash." He adds quickly.

"Excellent idea." The gun is gone at the same time Frost rises back up to his feet and heads back out the door. My body has got to be immune to adrenaline by now because I can't feel a god damn thing at this point.

As soon Frost is gone my 'savior' drops to his knees by my side. He is shirtless, his green hair falls into his bright eyes as he studies the bruising around my neck. "Hey there, doll." He is also shamelessly drunk, voice almost droll in its ease. The smell of alcohol tickles my nose whenever he breathes out. I open my mouth to correct his stupid endearment, but he presses a finger to his lips. "You'll be in a WORLD of pain if you start flapping that jaw again." He looks and sounds haunted, like there's something hanging over him now. His borderless emotional shift disarms me. I settle for a hum in the back of my throat. It burns like hell, but I know it's only a hint of how torturously painful speaking will be. "You'll have something to help real soon…and then we can talk about what the fuck just happened."

Fantastic.

After a few awkward minutes of The Joker watching the door and me watching him, Frost returns with a thumb-sized bottle and gloves. He gives both to Mr. J, delivers me an underserved glare, and leaves the room. "Good help is hard to find." Joker supplies, I think, by way of apology for not shooting him, and then sets to work drunkenly wiggling on the gloves and opening the bottle.

"Got this from a chick really into plants. It'll heal ya, though only parts of you that are hurt." Joker dabs a tiny amount of liquid on his fingers, then carefully begins to trace the bruises on my neck with the very, very cold concoction. "Eats through healthy skin." He muses absently.

I really need to get the fuck away from this entire situation.

My eyelids droop as I focus on the beat resonating up from the floor. The music had been obnoxious in that back room, but now it's muffled, forced elsewhere. My mind fills with the memory of following him along to his office, my hand gripped comfortably in his, the side of my finger brushing absently against one of the rings living on his pointer.

"We did something like this once." I hear him say, the sound of him working off the gloves follows. "In the picture show memories, I got via my little dive." His tone is conversational, unbothered. "I fell off a ladder and whacked my shoulder preeeeeeetty good. You got all Nurse Gina, patched me up, blew me and made it better."

I slap the back of my hand against his chest before I can even think. He laughs with manic glee, so I smack him again before letting my hand fall to my stomach with exhaustion. I don't want to encourage friendliness between us, especially after what I just suffered through for him, but all I can do is glare…so I fucking GLARE.

My vitriolic stare never ebbs as he finishes playing doctor, throwing the gloves- still covered in what was essentially venom- over his shoulder and into the darkness. It feels like I've been in his presence for days instead of the hours. Joker has somehow managed to cram a lifetime of passion and heartbreak into a scant few moments. I can't fathom how Quinn functions with him by her side; only to come to the bleak realization of how their relationship can only continue with her being perpetually miserable in one form or another.

Nope, nope, nope.

Empathize when you're not laid out like hot breakfast with The Joker looming over you, looking like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

Joker maneuvers around gracelessly, bumping me several times, before he manages to pull my head and shoulders onto his lap. I spill over him sideways, my left cheek pressed somewhat against his disarmingly warm stomach. For some reason I expect him to lean back on his hands, but he instead bows over me, draping shadows over his face. I focus my eyes on his ribs, there it is, my name is still there, my eyes nearly fill with tears. What had been nearly impossible to see earlier was now a glowing beacon of my failure.

"I'll get you home, Gina. Just need to, uh, perk up some before I get behind the wheel." His tone partners well with my disappointment.

I come undone. I let my previously unshed tears fall, my body curls up and around Mr. J's torso. He doesn't push me away or scoff, he simply rests a hand against my hip and keeps his head bowed over me. "It's not fucking fair!" My voice is hoarse, though it would have been unusable without his medicine. "No, it's not." He agrees quietly. I hate that he agrees with me. I hate him. I hate this whole goddamn night. I hate that there are moments where I can see him, MY him. His gross humor, the way he moves perfectly against me, that stupid fucking nickname.

I inhale sharply again and again to catch my breath. I'm in more than just physical pain. My soul hurts.

He helps me to my feet when I motion that I want to stand. It's a rocky start, my tired body wants to remain on the floor. I rejoice in his unnatural body heat, press against his bare torso without a word, winding my arms around his shoulders and neck. He lets me stay as close as I want. He's unsteady too, still drunk, and probably still fucked up from almost having to watch me die.

"You kept your promise." He whispers reverently into my neck. "You didn't stay dead." Mr. J encloses me in his arms, creating what I might have called a 'cage' at the beginning of this chaotic night. "I definitely feel owed." I answer in an equally subdued tone. "Whatever you want, sweetheart. Daddy will provide." This time I find myself laughing, incapable of anything resembling disgust. He squeezes me harder and I find peace in the gesture. It is this moment I'll keep with me after we part ways. The smell of booze and cologne, my bare feet on his expensive dress shoes, Mr. J's breath heating up my skin.

It's as safe as I'll ever feel with him and it's the reason I need to go.

"Get her back."

I finally reply. My arm unwinds from his shoulder, so that I can smooth my fingers up his cheek. "You need her." In the millisecond his throat rumbles with an angry growl, I press my thumb against his lips with a playful narrowing of my eyes. "Trust me like you trusted me an hour ago." I lessen the pressure when he rolls his eyes.

"Harley and I both died and came back to life. The only difference is that Harley did it for you, I did it for me."

"…you really hate me that much?" His dark voice tickles lips as he leans in close with a metallic snarl. My hand is still against his cheek; I feel every clench and unvoiced frustration. He has never faced this particular situation. If I were anyone else he could toss me aside, or might have not even noticed me in the first place. He needed me to want him.

Perhaps the soul bond still worked in him too. His mind was a whirlpool of screaming nonsense, but it was still a mind, it had emotional value and capabilities. I think losing Harley broke him more than even he knew. If I stayed with him, if he could convince me, it might be like she was never really gone.

Just stuck back in his head for a while.

I kept talking about her like she was out there, which she obviously was, but it was really fucking with his reality. He told me he understood that we were two people. However, I'm beginning to suspect that he's reconsidering after watching me gasp back to life.

There was even a witness this time.

Just when I think I'm out.

"The problem is that I don't hate you as much as I should." A half-truth. You never tell someone living in a delusional state that what they think isn't real.

Cause they'll try to prove you wrong.

This makes him smile again. It reaches his eyes, crinkling them with genuine emotion. "Sweet talker." He shoots back, then covers my mouth this his hand to admire how I look with his tattooed grin. "It's late! You should be a good girl and head home!"

I step hesitantly from his presence. My shoes are deposited into my arms with flair by a newly revitalized Joker. He gestures vaguely in my direction. "You wanna wash your face? Do something with that hair?" I flip him off instantly. He snickers, the quietest sound I've heard from him all night, and stoops to pick up his dress shirt. "I'm just saying, baby. You look…thoroughly ravished."

"I look like someone tried to kill me."

"Tomayto, tamahto."

"Take me the fuck home."

His snicker grows into laughter as he slides his shirt over his shoulders and buttons it slowly. As soon as he's done, he steps forward to loom in my face silently, then oh so deliberately lowers himself down on his knee to capture my left foot. Even though we've made out more than once tonight, it's this act that causes blood to riot in my cheeks. I redden further when he carefully plucks the heels from my hand and makes a show of slipping them onto my feet.

The clown springs back up to wrap an arm around my waist.

"Thank you, Mr. J."

"I think you can do a little better than that, baby. 'Thank you, …?" He cups the ear closes to me. I elbow him in a huff, my various noises of disgust broken by, "I'm NOT calling you 'Daddy!'" I stomp through the door, leaving behind a grumbling supervillain to follow.

"Women."

* * *

This is almost the place where I want to end it. I like the idea that we never really find out what happens between these events and The Joker finally getting Quinn back, but I want y'all to have some kind of closure, so I think another 1 or 2 chapters are ahead.


	4. Part IV

I apologize for such a broad swath between updates. This story is reaching its end. The next chapter is the final chapter.

Reviews are always appreciated, ya'll.

Also, like all others chapters before this one it is unbeta'ed- forgive the errors.

-Elk

* * *

 **Revenant**

 **Part 4**

Everything about the rest of the night was probably a fucking horror show. I can only guess because when I'm dragged from unconsciousness the next morning I can't even remember how I got where I am. My back aches like I've been sleeping on the ground, or the kitchen floor as I soon come to realize. I count to ten, banishing all other thoughts until I can choke back the urge to vomit. After the feeling ebbs I force myself to move. A heavy material slides along my back whenever I make it onto my elbows; It's a dark purple color and smells like a structure fire.

Joker.

I buck it off me like a mildly tranquilized bull, a groan of victory all I can muster once it finally slumps to the linoleum. It's leather, maybe? I drag it towards me for a better look. "Is this god damn alligator?"

Yeah.

It was a purple ALLIGATOR skin coat.

How in the bleeding hell did I end up sleeping on my kitchen floor with a dead animal draped over my back?

My head is now pounding and every source of light makes me wince.

I'm going to need a long shower before I can solve any of these mysteries.

The rest of the apartment is oddly pristine considering that I made the decision that the kitchen was the best place to sleep.

Dick Dynamite, my illusive tortoiseshell cat is waiting for me to show my face. The end of Dick's tail flickers in understated aggravation as I step into the bedroom, cold feline eyes peering up at me from the mound of pillows on my bed. "Don't give me your shit, Dyna Dick." I grouse, only to receive the look of the truly unbothered. Why do we even try to love cats? I know I look the epitome of white girl wasted right now, but I forgo the shower for a moment in order stomp off to fix the little shitbird something for breakfast.

Once Dick is nibbling happily in the dining room, tail curled around the back of the legs, I lock myself in my bathroom to shower off the residue from last night. My muscles start to loosen as hot steam enfolds me in its comforting embrace. I stare vacantly at the wall, still unable to recollect the final hour before I fell asleep.

Things I CAN remember:

Making it back downstairs.

J almost having a fit when he realized he'd left his tacky pimp cane in the back room.

J not being super receptive to my usage of 'tacky' when I tell him to go back for the stupid thing.

Him then marching off with a warning for me not to go anywhere while he went to retrieve it, and I must have stayed put because my next developing memory makes me cringe. A whimper of shame escapes me as I begin to vividly recall asking Mr. J to get me something to drink before we leave. I can practically see him standing in front of me now with that delighted expression, then strutting to the bar the second after and grabbing the biggest bottle of something- ugh, vodka.

I let my head droop in another wave of embarrassment.

My eyes flicker briefly to the water running down my front, my heart catches in my throat at the sight of red. I sputter, water droplets spurting from my lips. The shower door dings against the wall as I throw it open to clamber to the mirror hanging over the sink. Trailing hand prints of blood are caked onto either cheek, slight trails fall down my neck, there's even a small stain between my breasts. It's like someone with incredibly bloody hands held my face.

I'm not even going to pretend like I don't already know.

"What the fuuuuuuuck?" I whisper breathlessly, voice lost in the rush of running water.

I ease back into the shower and scrub until the water runs cold. After brushing my teeth, I pad into my bedroom with my towel slung over my shoulders. The sight of my body in the floor length mirror against the wall arrests me. I blink harshly to adjust my eyes, searching for anymore spots of gore. Everything is back as it should be. My skin is clean, murder-free. So, I decide, while staring at my undamaged neck, then at my scarred chest, that last night didn't happen.

I continue letting the night fall away as I dress and braid my hair. I'm snug in my college swim team t-shirt and red shorts. No work today! I can spend at least the next few hours wallowing in self-pity, maybe order a calzone, get lost in a Fringe marathon.

If only life were so accommodating.

I turn to face the bed I'd been neglecting just in time to watch Dick's earlier pillow fort erupt, giving way to a familiar form. The pale, shirtless figure sits up and I find my back bumping into the mirror I'd been watching myself in.

The Joker runs a hand through his hair, his fingers and palms a match for those on my painted face from earlier. His body moves to the far edge of the bed away from me, he leans forward with his hands scrubbing at his face. He doesn't seem to notice me in the moment. I am never not surprised by his body, it's far too enticing for its own good. I watch his back and shoulders ungulate, a bit of saliva gathering in my mouth.

I need to get laid, man.

At the very least I need to get a knowledgeable hand between my thighs.

Mr. J looks up like a dog who thinks it's heard a noise, then slowly twists his body to watch me with a blank stare.

Without preamble I remember his bloodied hands on my skin.

 _I'm frozen on the spot; my knees will not bend. Joker stands over Milo's body, his shoulders heaving in exhaustion, he tosses the dripping knife onto Milo's chest as he looks over his shoulder at me. "Couldn't just listen to me!" My jaw is slack as I watch him stagger over with blood covering almost every inch of his shirt and face. He scoops up his coat on the way, pulling it over his shoulders, shaking it out to make sure it's straight._

" _You killed him! You…YOU ALMOST DIED!" I call out in stupefaction. All I get in return is an eyeroll, which fills me with hysteria, I grab the front of his jacket and jerk him furiously back and forth; It's a pointless gesture, but I feel like I'm losing my mind. Mr J. growls back at me in mounting frustration. "I told you Milo was a bad, bad man, but nooooo Uncle Joker's just some nut job who thinks everyone is out to get him." I'm surprised he isn't foaming at the mouth. "Stop it." I reply only to be soundly ignored. "Everyone always says I'M crazy. I'M chaos walking, which I am and don't let me catch you tellin' otherwise, but I'M also a guy who KNOWS HOW TO TREAT A LADY!"_

 _Joker wrestles himself away from my grip and starts to viciously kick the corpse at our feet. "YOU TRIED TO TAKE HER AWAY AGAIN!" His voice is a roar of unremitting fury, he delivers an especially hard kick that knocks the body onto its side. I watch, mystified by what I'm seeing. "Joker!" I say with some hesitation. There is more blood than I have ever seen. When this fails to garner a reaction, I try again with greater force. "J!" My hands catch his shoulders from behind, he whirls on me with a snarl._

 _I freeze as our eyes meet. His rage has contracted his pupils to the size of pinpricks and I run the risk of losing myself in the tormented blue of his irises. A wet heat draws me back to reality, the touch of his warm, bloody hands cradling my face. "Thank you." I murmur, glancing down to disengage from that stare. He'd been trying to think of something to say, I could see it all over his expression. When my eyes find his again his focus has shifted, that the sharp blade of his anger had dulled. "Anytime, baby." His tone is carefree, as though he's trying to convince himself everything is fine. He's also maneuvered himself closer to me, the human warmth of him extraordinarily reassuring._

I snap abruptly out of my reminiscence as that recognizable warmth spreads along my jaw again. Joker is standing before me in a repeat of last night, his hands guiding my eye line up to meet his.

"Look at me." His voice is hoarse from disuse and it makes my pelvic muscles clinch pleasantly.

We must look deranged, he certainly does, hair, face, and hands coated with dried blood. I feel strangely comfortable in all this, even a little appreciative of his touch, I'm drawn to whatever I can get from him.

I'm not starved for physical contact. I can get that shit whenever I want, could fucking pay for it if I had to, ya know?

What I don't often get, if ever, is that look that's on his face. I've never been on the receiving end of such a stare. This feeling is lousy with addictive potential. It feels like I'm the only reason he bothered to wake up today.

Even if I'll never love him there is still a part of me that wants to be loved by the man whose name is etched on my skin. I know it's not a healthy fixation, we've been in each other's presence for less than two days, but when he's looking at me like that I can't fucking help it, this is home. I want to hate him, I do, but soulmates are a tricky thing. Two souls missing a piece that could only be found in each other. Mine was still in him, burned and bloodied as it may be. My missing piece was calling out to me and it didn't care that it was in the body of the least safe man on Earth.

My tired sigh belies the fuzzy feeling in my gut, I push down my desire to kiss him, to greet him like an old paramour. I give the hands on my face a tug and return them to his sides.

I am more than my selfish impulses.

"You got red all over my sheets."

I rise up on my toes to peer around him and sure e-fucking-nough the pristine white sheets are now a one note Jackson Pollack. The resignation in my voice must fill him with glee because he's looking down at me with a smile, his eyes crinkling as it grows into a full-blown grin. "Ooooh. The things you do to me! First thing in the morning and ya got me all…fired up."

Maybe it's because it's the exact kind of thing I expect him to say, but I snort in genuine amusement. "Good morning, Mr. J." He pulls back abruptly, leaving me frowning in confusion, and sits back on the bed, facing me this time.

"That's…that's gonna rattle me, G." His voice has a slight croak, almost cartoonish. I continue to stare right back at him, clearly missing something. "I get that we landed on…" He clicks his tongue and flings hands sarcastically into the air, "friendship,' but ain't that just as grotesque as 'lovers?'" My look of confusion curves deeper into revulsion. "That word bums me out." I reply and watch the right side of his lip draw up in amusement. His bright eyes seem to glow against the human paint smeared around them. Joker tilts his head forward in agreement. "My feelings ex-actly."

As I stand by the bed smiling discreetly at our mutual disgust with everyday human emotions, I am struck by how relaxed I am with him in my room. This is a thought more disconcerting than watching this blood-soaked ghoul rise up from my bed. Rationality starts to wave its arms around in my head finally getting my attention. This wasn't normal! I should be calling some kind of emergency service. I woke up with a face covered in blood, for Christ sake. I don't need this sociopath giving me googly eyes to feel good about myself. He needs to take his pretty back and fuck entirely off.

"Cards on the table," I say while I cross my arms over my chest, obscuring the logo. "I don't have the clearest memory of last night. I remember my regrettable decision to start drinking." My arms come undone as I start to count on my fingers. "You stabbed my weed guy." I stick out another finger. "…and, ya know, before we move further into this wholly fucked up web of bullshit- why'd ya stab my weed guy?"

Joker leans back on his hands, spreads himself out with an expression I think he thinks is cute. "Missing a lot of pieces from last night?" My jaw tightens at his tone. "Just some of the small stuff." He snorts in response and bounces nimbly to his feet. "Maybe we're more alike than you think if you're of the mind that my reasons for cutting someone open is 'small stuff.'"

My tongue sticks out as I regard him with a petulant sneer.

"Whatever, you still haven't answered my question."

He hadn't meant to look at me like that earlier. We HAD come to a friendly understanding last night. J had been scolding himself when he pulled away; he wasn't supposed to propose meshing our swimsuit areas together with his eyes anymore.

Friends with The Joker.

How the fuck did I get here?

"Milo, your trusty weed man, was also my trusty clean up man."

I highly doubt he means that Milo scrubbed his floors. My expression is stuck as my mind goes tits up. "You wouldn't think those two careers would overlap." I respond quietly. The Joker only shrugs.

"Anywho…our mutual friend wasn't too happy that you found out about his little side business. He tried to stab you." J manages to smile again. "At least that meant he valued our relationship- his and mine- didn't try to kill ME. It probably had more do with the frankly ridiculous amount of money I paid him." He giggles inappropriately and taps the end of my nose with his index finger. "We left The Cleaner in a dirty alley to rot."

I wait for my stomach to turn in disgust, but a brief memory of Milo pulling a knife from his jacket fixes any tummy troubles before they can start. It would have been the second time that night I almost died. That asshole deserves what he got. My fingers seek out J, wrapping around his wrist when they find him. He immediately crosses the distance between us with a sober expression, no more laughter. "You said…you said no more than what we'd already done." He whispers into my face. "All I got was a 'thank you.'"

"You also got a place to sleep." I keep hold of his wrist. "You're also going to get a shower." I murder the wonder in his eyes when I inform him, "alone." We stay there for a few seconds more. I need to pull away even if the idea hurts, like breaking the silence of a dark room. Mr. J is the stronger one, stepping back towards the bathroom, finally turning away and disappearing after running his hungry gaze from the top of my head down.

I wait for the water to start running before I slap the rest of the pillows to the floor and yank up the soiled sheets. I shove them down into the laundry basket for now; I can wash them once I get rid of Mr. J. There is a pile of clothes next to the bed on the far side: a pair of soft, gray dress shoes with gold plates on the tips, a white dress shirt, and a midnight blazer hosting emerald flowers blooming along the waist. The trousers must have been on the floor of the bathroom. Everything I find is covered in blood, smelling not-too-faintly of copper and smoke.

He's going to need something to wear.

I live alone and without any constant company, but I have a feeling that he wouldn't much care to chill out au naturel while waiting for is clothes to dry. I, however, would VERY much have a problem with that, so I make it my new mission to find anything that can cover him. I'll go Scarlett O'Hara up in this bitch and start tearing down the curtains if it comes to it.

There's probably some special way you're supposed to wash most of this stuff, but I don't let that concern me as I dump everything into the washer. The water is still running in the shower as I turn the cap of laundry detergent over the clothes. "Hope you like…" My eyes squint as I read the label. "Whispering forest snowdrift." I continue in singsong as I smack the lid down over the drum filling with cold water.

In the end I find a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, both black, the shirt with the sleeves cut off so that I could show off the guns when I work out, or because the shirt was hella old and I was tired of jamming my fingers into the rips on the sleeve whenever I tried to put it on.

Whichever explanation you prefer.

My back rests gingerly against the wall just outside the bathroom. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. There is nothing to keep my mind or body busy, no substance running through my system to keep me from dwelling on a single thought for too long.

What else happened after Milo? How did we get from that to J jumping away from me? I let my head lean back against the wall, eyes closed, and try to conjure something from the void of my missing memories.

All I find is an insurmountable wall of nothing. I know that I can pound on it forever, but without the right tool it'll keep blocking my way indefinitely.

"Making sure I didn't drown?"

I didn't even hear the water shut off.

Joker is standing in front of me, green hair hanging down, beads of water on his colorless skin. I was so busy in my own mind that he's managed to get close enough to nearly touch me. Unable to keep a grip on my reactions I feel the warmth of my cheeks just as he leans further into my space, the tip of his tongue skimming his bottom lip before disappearing back between his teeth. "Knock that shit off." He warns just before he grabs at the clothing I'd forgotten were clasp in my arms. I release them without another word, waiting until he steps back into the bathroom to let out the breath I'd been holding. I'm proud to say that I couldn't tell you whether or not he was wearing a towel.

I don't think he'd appreciate being thought of as a tool, but that threatening undercurrent in his voice is what unlocks the door in my brain. My head leans against the wall again when I'm swallowed up by memories.

"… _because?" I reply in a way that can only be described as "drunkenly."_

" _Eloquent." Joker deadpans as he rests both hands atop his not-at-all tacky cane. I know that I've been treating him like an unstable bomb, which is unfair since he is clearly capable of running an entire criminal empire, so camly explaining romantic incompatibility is not outside the realm of possibility. "You want me to be honest?" I ask hesitantly, my hands fidget in my lap. We're sitting in the gated courtyard of my building, sharing the sole wooden bench. My lower back rests against one of the armrests, my legs folded up under my dress. I watch the profile of J's face, his pale skin glowing in the dim light of the surround lamps._

" _I've been told it's a good policy." He waves a hand at me. "Go on, Gina. Tell your friend Joker how ya feeeeeeel."_

 _My mouth is so, so dry._

" _It's like you're just someone wearing the skin of the man who was supposed to love me."_

 _He lets out an exaggerated hiss._

" _Ouch."_

 _I hum in agreement. "And you'll never know if I'm the woman of your dreams or if the woman of your dreams is locked away in some cage." The Joker grips the gold skull on the top of his cane so tightly that I hear his knuckles crack. He hated when someone second guessed his mental state. "Which means that we CANNOT, and I stress this very fucking muchly, CANNOT have sex."_

 _Joker lolls his head towards me, hair falling to the side; I now have a full view of his face covered in blood from our earlier episode with Milo. "Is this the part where you say we can "still be friends," G?" The amusement in his voice doesn't quite match his eyes, which are withdrawn._

" _Why in the hell would I want to be your friend?" My impulse control fell asleep a few swigs ago. My tone is pure in its indignation._

 _I crawl up from the bench to gain some leverage. I am directly in front of him now on wobbly feet, my hands sliding into the pockets of the ridiculous coat he'd given me to wear. His eyes brighten and he flops back on the bench, knees and arms spread open, cane smacking loudly to the ground. "It beats being my enemy." I snort automatically. "You've been all over the news, you and Harley, so believe me when I tell you that I wonder if you know the difference between friends and enemies." I pretend to ponder, a finger tapping my chin as I stare down at him. He hasn't moved from his relaxed position, but I catch his playfulness morph into aggravation. "We need to find Harley. I want to help you, AS A FRIEND, find your dream girl. We find her, you say something pithy, and then you two ride off into the sunset…leaving a trail of gunfire and homemade incendiary devices in your wake." My voice has increased in volume as I sway impassioned with every word. "I mean, I do owe you for not letting that fuckwit murder me to death."_

 _I end it by holding out my hand to him._

 _Mr. J stares up at me._

" _Where are you in this scenario?"_

" _I'm waving goodbye!" I reply happily and wave up at the sky. "You'll be too busy too notice, but I'll be doing it just the same."_

It should probably fuck with me that I'm relieved that all I did last night was drink and watch a dude die. My nerves had been most concerned with whether or not LastNight!Regina had slept with someone she shouldn't have.

Priorities.

My mouth curves into a grin as I watch Mr. J return from the bathroom. "You look like the best-est drug dealer in your apartment building." J smooths back his hair with a cheesy wink and saunters over to my bed to throw himself onto the bare mattress.

"Don't be mad, G." My face falls in anticipation of his next sentence. "We're gonna need my boy Frost for this next part."

* * *

You know what I JUST realized? I have never posted a "I don't own this shit."

I don't own any trademarked properties.

There we go.


End file.
